Growing up I was always a little fearful. It was almost like a black cloud over me yet I could see the beautiful blue sky beyond it. At night in my mother’s townhouse I was scared. It was lonely. That dark cloud would grow bigger as night surrounded us. I remember feeling uneasy. This wasn’t due to anything my mom had done or not done. It had nothing to do with my brother either. As I grow older, I see what it was. It was the brokenness. It was the lack of family. It was the three of us but mostly my mom. She was alone and I felt like I was on the outside looking in.
I would have nightmares. I still do. Reoccurring nightmares. After struggling for what seemed like many years, I finally told my mom that I was seeing things. I saw shadows at night. I would often crawl into my brothers room so he wouldn’t see me and I would lay there without a pillow or blanket, so desperate for comfort and safety. Being the bigger brother, he would drag me out by my legs or hair and put me back in my room. He didn’t realize how afraid I was. Eventually, my parents brought me to a therapist of some sort. I wasn’t told why we were there. I must have been around eight years old at the time. The therapist called my parents in when we were done and I remember her saying “all is well, nothing to worry about. She is completely normal”.
When we left the room, my dad got so excited and said to me, ” Oh good! I knew there was nothing wrong with you!!” and sighed a big sigh of relief. What an interesting thing to say to your daughter. As if to say..if there was something wrong, that wouldn’t be okay? But there was something wrong! I was still having the nightmares and I was still seeing the shadows. That was where they left it. I never got an explanation or figured it out.
The world around me made a big impact on me. I was a very self aware, smart, emotionally intelligent little girl. Always listening and observing. I was quiet and reserved. I loved to blast Enya over and over in my room. My passion for music and writing started at a very young age. It was my escape and my happiness.
I’ve had anxiety as long as I can remember. I never knew what ‘anxiety’ meant or had never really heard of it until I was in high school. My dad said he remembers seeing it in me as early as age four. Worried about others and their opinions. Worried about school and boys. Heck, I even used to have talks with my dad about his finances. I would worry he wouldn’t have enough money to pay my mom child support. I was just a kid and I hardly let myself be one. Always trying to pick up the pieces. Always trying to be the peacemaker. I felt it was my responsibility. I always stuck around because I thought that was what family did.
They might not see it. They might not believe it. But I think this was all caused by their divorce. Sure, I’m sure it was never in their plan to get divorced. Sure, they probably didn’t want it to happen that way. But it did and there are reactions to every action. I was affected by their decision. Is it my place to say it was their fault or his fault or her fault and make all these assumptions and judgement? No. But what is my place to say is how I was affected. What happened affected me! And it is still affecting me. No, I do not see the shadows anymore. I just don’t look for them. I’ve tried from a young age to keep moving forward. I try to not dwell and focus on the things that scare me. This divorce, however, is still with me to this day. My dad’s actions still affect me to this day. I have forgiven him for leaving my mother. I have chosen to have a relationship with him regardless of his past because he is my father and I love him. But that does not mean his actions do not affect me. That does not mean he can just do whatever he pleases and it will have no reaction from me. It sure as hell doesn’t mean that because I am an adult and have my own children that he is done being a parent. That right there is his biggest misconception.
Actions Have Reactions 